On the evening appointed, accordingly, we set out from our comfortable hotel to embark. The weather, which had all day been oppressively hot, had suddenly changed, and the rain was now pouring down in torrents. To make matters worse it was as dark as pitch, and it was some time ere, after shouting ourselves hoarse, we could procure a sampan to take us on board. The Aline was luckily lying close in-shore, and we stood on her deck, after a short pull in the sampan, wringing wet. A pleasant welcome from her captain, however, dry clothes, and a glass of grog in her cheerful and well-lit cabin, soon set things right, and we turned in and slept soundly, undisturbed by the bustle and noise that always attends the departure of a ship.
We were awoke at six next morning, and, swallowing a cup of most excellent coffee, Sarawak grown, went on deck. The sun shone brightly, and the air felt cool and fresh after the rain of yesterday. No land was in sight, and with a fair wind and sail set we were making good way through the water.
The Aline is the largest of the gunboats (of which there are four) belonging to the Sarawak Government. She is about 200 tons, schooner rigged, and carries two 32-pounders, fore and aft. Her accommodation, state rooms and saloon, are forward, a good plan in the tropics, as the smell of steam and hot oil from the engine-room are thus avoided, and it is also cooler than aft when the vessel is under weigh. The quarters of the crew are aft; and I was surprised to see how clean and neat everything on board was kept, the more so that the ship's company consisted entirely of Malays, who are proverbially careless and dirty in these matters. She had but two European officers, the captain and engineer. The former, Captain K., who had been in these seas for many years, had some interesting tales to tell of the old pirate days, when Sir James Brooke first visited Borneo in his yacht the Royalist.
Our voyage across was very enjoyable, and our host a very agreeable companion. It seemed but a short time, then, since our departure from Singapore, that on the 25th of May at 4.30 p.m. we sighted the high lands of the island of Borneo; the mountain of Gunong Poë, in Dutch territory, towering high above the rest. By eight o'clock we were abreast of Cape Datu, a long spit of land running far out to sea, and the southernmost point of Sarawak territory. Rounding this we passed Sleepy Bay, in which a boat in search of pirates, commanded by an officer of H.M.S. Dido, was nearly captured by them some years ago. The whole crew, including the watch, had fallen asleep one night while at anchor in the bay, but one of their number happening to wake just in time, gave the alarm, just as the pirate prahus, which had pulled out from the land, were within about thirty yards of them. A sharp skirmish ensued, and the Illanuns were at length driven off, but had they not been warned in time the English must have perished to a man, as these ruffians made it a rule to spare none but Hajis, or Mahometans who have made a pilgrimage to Mecca. The bay derives its name from this occurrence.
At daybreak the next morning we were summoned on deck by Captain K. as we were passing Talang-Talang, or Turtle Island, and should shortly be off the mouth of the Sarawak river. Talang-Talang is a small island literally swarming with turtle, whose eggs form a staple article of commerce in the Sarawak market. The mode of procuring them is curious. Turtles lay only at night, and having dug holes in the ground deposit their eggs therein, and cover them over with sand. Natives who have been on the watch then place sticks in the ground to mark the place where they may be found, and they are the next morning dug out in enormous quantities, and exported to various parts of Borneo and the adjacent islands. The eggs have a stale fishy flavour, are very sandy, and to my mind extremely nasty, although they are considered a great delicacy by the natives, who eat them raw with their curry.
By seven o'clock we were entering the Santubong mouth of the Sarawak river. There are two entrances to this; the other, Moratabas, some few miles farther down the coast, being the larger, is used by men-of-war and other large craft. Vessels of 300 tons and under, however, always use the Santubong entrance, excepting during the north-east monsoon, when it is unsafe for vessels of any size, and Moratabas is always used. The Santubong entrance is far superior to the other as far as scenery is concerned. On the right bank of the river, its base stretching for some way out to sea, stands the Peak of Santubong, rising to a height of over 2,000 feet, and covered with dense forest to a height of nearly 1,700 feet, from which point a perpendicular sandstone precipice rises to the summit.[1] At the foot of the hill, and almost hidden by trees which surround it, lies the little fishing village of Santubong, inhabited by Chinese and Malay fishermen. Kuching is supplied daily with fresh fish from this place. The left-hand bank is a flat, swampy plain of impenetrable jungle, having its river banks lined with mangroves and nipa palms. This extends for about ten miles inland, until the mountain of Matang, which can plainly be seen from the mouth, is reached, and on the near side of which lies the capital, Kuching.
The journey up river from the mouth is flat and uninteresting, and little is to be seen but nipa and other palms on either side, and although Kuching is but seven miles from Santubong as the crow flies, it is quite twenty by river. It was not till ten o'clock, therefore, that signs of civilisation commenced, in the shape of a few Malay houses built close to the water's edge. These are usually built in the same manner on piles of wood of ten to fifteen feet high, the walls and roof being made of "atap," or the leaf of the nipa-palm dried, and the flooring of "lanties" or split bamboo.
The Chinese brick-yards and potteries of "Tanah Puteh," a suburb of Kuching, came into view shortly after this, and immediately after this Fort Margaret, which stands on a hill on the left-hand bank of the river, and commands the entrance to Kuching, and, rounding the bend that hides it from our view, we now come to the town itself, so unique and picturesque a place that a far abler pen than mine is needed to do justice to its description.
Lining the right bank of the river, which is here about 400 yards broad, is the Chinese Bazaar extending for nearly a quarter of a mile along the shore, the houses, which are of brick, presenting a very curious appearance, with their red roofs and bright-coloured façades—the latter, in the case of some of the wealthier owners, embellished with designs of porcelain and majolica ware. The row of acacia trees which line the street from end to end would give the place rather the look of a boulevard in a small French town were it not for the palms growing at the back of the Bazaar, and the Chinese junks and Malay craft moored alongside the bank. At the end of the Bazaar, and separated from it by a small stream running into the main river, which is crossed by a wooden bridge, is the Chinese joss-house, an imposing edifice erected by the principal Chinese merchants here at a cost of over 10,000 dols.[2]
Next to the "Pangkalan Batoo," or principal landing-place, is the prison, a large stone building, on the right of which is the Borneo Company's (Limited) Wharf; and behind this again stands the Court House, containing all the Government offices, such as Treasury, Post-Office, &c., and wherein the Court of Justice is held.
Stone buildings cease here, and the Malay town extends for half a mile up both banks of the river.
On the left bank, in the midst of beautifully laid-out gardens, is the "Astana," or Palace of the Raja, a handsome stone building built in three blocks, connected with each other by means of small bridges. The centre building, which is surrounded by a fine broad verandah, supported by massive stone pillars, contains drawing-room, dining-room, library, and billiard-room, and is flanked by a tower which forms the principal entrance. The buildings on either side of this consist of sleeping apartments, while on the right of the house, and standing on somewhat lower ground, is a bungalow set apart for the use of guests. With the exception of the fort and commandant's house, the "Astana" is the only building on this side of the river. The passage across to the opposite shore, or town side, is made by means of boats built on the model of the Venetian gondola, and propelled by paddles, there being as yet no bridge.
The Aline was anchoring off the town when a message was brought us from the Raja, who kindly offered to place the "Astana" bungalow aforementioned at our disposal during our stay in the country.